


In the Blink of an Eye

by GigiEverett02



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fiction, Original Fiction, Other, Science Fiction, Technology, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GigiEverett02/pseuds/GigiEverett02
Summary: Mr. Vanderwink is concerned for his wife's safety as her addiction to technology grows.
Kudos: 1





	In the Blink of an Eye

DING DONG! 

"Hello, Mrs. Vanerwink. Your package has arrived."  
Mrs. Vanerwink opened the door to find a metallic, blue disk with a gray sheen rippling over its scaly exterior hovering in the air. Its four long, spindly arms clutched a brown paper parcel.  
"Thank you!" She called to the disk after she had grabbed the package. It spun off into the cloudy sky, whirring quietly. Mrs. Vanerwink shut the door. "Honey, your tools have arrived!” A few moments later, Mr. Vanerwink came hobbling into the kitchen.  
"That was fast," he said uneasily. He shambled over to the table and began to unwrap the parcel. His fingers moved clumsily over the crinkling paper.  
"Blinkbots deliver ‘in the blink of an eye’," Mrs. Vanerwink lifted her finger and winked at her husband. "That's their motto."  
"Yes, yes I know," Mr. Vanerwink snapped, then muttered under his breath, "you say it all day long."  
"I believe in being supportive." Mrs. Vanerwink put her hands on her hips. She had heard her husband’s remark. She always did, and seldom approved of them. "And they certainly live up to their motto,” she added.  
"Supportive? What for? They're a multibillion dollar corporation!"  
"They didn't start out that way." Mr. Vanderwink didn't answer. He knew better than to argue with his wife on matters of trivial importance or otherwise. They had been married for fifty-two years, and he had never once won an argument.  
"How are the tools?" Mrs. Vanderwink asked her husband. She shuffled towards the stove, her once fuzzy, white slippers now grubby from fifteen years of scratching against the same hardwood floor.  
"Won't know til I use ‘em," the old man said noncommittally. He picked up one of the chisels from his new wood-working set and held it beneath the white, wrought-iron lamp that hung over the kitchen table. "They seem adequate." He hated to admit it, but the tools were of fine craftsmanship. The chisel glittered softly beneath the warm yellow glow of the light, and the other tools shone alongside it.  
"Good." Mrs. Vanderwink nodded her head. "Not surprising though. Blinkbots always deliver the best."  
Mr. Vanderwink exhaled sharply through his nose. He set the chisel down and beckoned his wife over. She had finished filling the kettle with water and was staring at the chipped formica countertop.  
"Come here," Mr. Vanderwink said. His wife turned the stove on, set the kettle on the burner and went back to the table to join her husband.  
"I worry about you," he said. He touched the back of his wife's hand gently. Thin veins spread beneath her crepe-like skin and created a spiderweb of blue threads, each pulsing slightly with the movement of blood.  
"What on Earth for?" Mrs. Vanderwink asked. Her Blinkbot tablet buzzed rapidly on the table. A soft blue light emitted from the screen and hologram letters floated above to arrange the words "We have a sale for you!"  
"You're so caught up in--"  
"Hold on dear," said Mrs. Vanderwink distractedly. She pulled her hand away from her husband’s and held up a finger to silence him. Then she grabbed her tablet and tapped on the deal mentioned seconds earlier. "Oooh, they're offering another sale on tools!"  
"We just bought tools."  
"Not these ones."  
“See? This is why I worry. I can’t even finish a sentence before you look away to shop or play some mindless game on your tablet. I shouldn’t have to compete for my wife with a toy.” Mr. Vanderwink furrowed his brow. He leaned in towards his wife and tried to stare into her eyes, but she didn't meet his gaze.  
“That’s silly,” was her response, “and it is not a toy.”  
"I'm going to bed," said Mr. Vanderwink. He sighed wearily, shook his head and disappeared into the bedroom. His wife said nothing. She was too enveloped in the deals being offered in that moment to even notice that he was gone.  
Later that night, the couple lay in bed, both wide awake. Sleep eluded Mr. Vanderwink for a number of reasons. He rolled to his side, facing away from his wife and stared at the fading wallpaper. He could not stop thinking about his new tools. Their arrival had left him feeling ill at ease, but they were shiny and new. They reignited a passion for woodworking he felt he had lost so long ago. In his younger days, he had often spent his time constructing candle holders, picture frames and wooden flutes, and he looked forward to reliving those relaxing afternoons spent in his workshop. However he was also worried, deeply worried, for his wife. She hadn't been the same since he had bought her that tablet. He bought it on a whim and meant it to be a fun distraction whenever she was hit by a wave of depression or regret for the choices she hadn’t made in the past.  
Long ago the couple had agreed on a childless marriage, but over the years Mrs. Vanderwink grew jealous of her friends’ busy schedules filled with activities planned with their children and grandchildren. No longer able to relate to her friends, she withdrew and with every passing year she turned more bitter and grew discontent with her husband’s company. She was so wrapped up in that silly tablet, so preoccupied. And Mr. Vanderwink thought it rather suspicious that those Blinkbots always seemed to know when you wanted something, and were more than ready and willing to deliver it to your door “in the blink of an eye”. That led the old man to thinking about the company that ran the Blinkbot service, which kept him tossing and turning through the rest of the night.  
Mrs. Vanderwink was awake because she was on her tablet.  
The next morning the old couple sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Mr. Vanderwink’s hand was outstretched on the tabletop, but Mrs. Vanerwink’s hands were holding the tablet. The sun slowly rose over the hills and illuminated their breakfast. The bright yellow rays were masked by thick gray clouds of exhaust from the hundreds of Blinkbots delivering packages. Mr. Vanderwink was gazing out the window. His wife was staring at her screen.  
"Did you know," Mrs. Vanderwink suddenly chriped, "that there is another sale going on? For toys?"  
Mr. Vanderwink was startled by his wife's loud and unexpected exclamation, and replied with a short, "No."  
"Well there is."  
"So? We don't need toys. We don't have any children, any grandchildren, what could we possibly need toys for?"  
"I just thought it was interesting," Mrs. Vanderwink grumbled. She was hurt by her husband's lack of shared interest, but that feeling soon dissipated and her eyes grew wide and hungry as she gazed upon her screen.  
“You browse too much,” Mr. Vanderwink told his wife. “You’re looking at things we don’t even need, or want.”  
Mrs. Vanderwink didn’t respond. Her pupils were tiny black pin pricks in blue-illuminated irises.  
An hour later, after breakfast was eaten and the dishes were cleaned and drying on a dilapidated wire rack, the couple sat in their living room. Two mugs of hot tea sat on the side tables, steam waving in the air. Mr. Vanderwink’s brow was furrowed in worry as he cast a sideways glance at his wife, who was tapping away obsessively.  
"Dear," he started, but was interrupted by a loud BANG, followed by a

DING DONG! 

"Hello Mrs. Vanderwink. We have a message for you."  
Mrs. Vanderwink looked up from her tablet, her neck cracking with age. Her face shot up from the screen and swiveled towards the door. Her eyes were wide and red, dried and fatigued. They were almost creamy, like the stale frosting between two layers of red velvet cake that had sat abandoned in the fridge for two weeks. A hypnotized grin slowly spread across the old woman's face, stretching her leathery skin into a tight mask.  
"What could that be?" Mrs. Vanderwink exclaimed, turning to her husband.  
"Dear," Mr. Vanderwink said again, more desperately this time, but his wife had already vaulted herself off the couch with an energy she hadn't shown in years and scurried to the door. She threw it open. Another disc, this one slightly smaller than the last but scalier, and with only one arm, hovered in front of Mrs. Vanderwink. The arm reached forward and handed her a white, blank envelope. Then it shot up into the gray sky, swirling and leaving her without an explanation.  
Mrs. Vanderwink came back into the house, clutching the letter with childlike excitement. Her eyes buzzed in their sockets. Her eager expectations of what might be inside the envelope knocked around in her brain like a hockey puck. "What is this? I wonder..." she whispered. She tore the letter open with one swift motion.  
After a few minutes of furiously scanning the paper, she smiled.  
"Isn't that nice? she said.  
"Isn't what nice?" Mr. Vanderwink asked. He was standing too, now, but nowhere near his wife. He had backed away from the door and slightly to the left, out of sight of the bot and a safe distance from the shell of the woman who used to be his wife.  
"The Blinkbot company just offered us a free tour of their retirement home."  
"A retirement home? What for?" he yelled. His furry eyebrows turned down in frustration. They crawled around his forehead like caterpillars, first angry, then confused, then afraid.  
"We don't have anyone to take care of us, so they're offering to."  
“What do you mean?"  
"Well it says right here, 'Blinkbots care for your health, wellbeing and overall comfort. We understand you do not have children or grandchildren of your own, so we will be happy to care for you ourselves. Please attend this tour to better understand our facility and what we have to offer.'"  
Mr. Vanderwink was outraged. "How do they know that?" he shouted. His face twisted into a red licorice braid and his glasses steamed over.  
Mrs. Vanderwink’s bony shoulders raised up, then fell back down in a shrug. "How should I know? But really, that's not important. What's important is that they care for us. About us."  
"Care? Hmph." Mr. Vanderwink sat back down. He eyed his wife carefully, then the letter. “We don’t need them to care for us.”  
“Who else will? We’re a lonely old couple. What happens if my hip gives out and there’s no one to take care of me?”  
“I’ll take care of you.”  
“Oh please. You’re as old and frail as I am.” The old woman set the letter down on the fireplace mantle and grabbed her tablet.  
How did they know? Mr. Vanderwink thought. Did they figure it out from all those silly purchases we've made? Or maybe--  
He jumped back to his feet. "It heard me!" He declared.  
"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Vanderwink asked her husband. She didn't look up from her screen.  
Mr. Vanderwink’s mouth was open, ready to say more, then he paused. “Oh, nothing.”  
For the next two hours, the old man bided his time. He brewed some tea, poured himself a mug, drank it, poured himself some more, drank that. Dusted the blinds, gazed out the windows, did some stretches. Until finally, finally, Mrs. Vanderwink set her tablet down and went to the bathroom.  
Mr. Vanderwink tiptoed over to the tablet and peered at it. The blue screen was completely blank, but a slight buzzing emitted from the device. It sounded like an annoying house fly trapped between the window glass and the screen--a bug that should’ve died an hour ago, but is still crawling around.  
"Hello?" he whispered. The tablet didn't respond. The screen didn’t change and the buzzing was as prominent as ever. Mr. Vanerwink leaned away and casually said, "Oh dear, it seems our coffee pot has a crack. If only we had a backup, or a new one..." He paused and stared at the tablet, then walked away to his bedroom and waited.  
As soon as the old man left, a quiet ringing emitted from the tablet. It was a simple tune sung by muted, synthesized bells.  
The next day, the doorbell rang. 

DING DONG!

"Hello, Mrs. Vanderwink. Your package has arrived."  
"Package? I don't remember ordering anything."  
Mrs. Vanderwink went to the door while her husband pressed himself against the wall and listened intently. A few moments later, Mrs. Vanderwink shut the door.  
"What is it?" Mr. Vanderwink called out.  
"A coffee pot," his wife called back. Mr. Vanderwink's heart dropped into his stomach and his eyes became cloudy with panic.  
It listened. It heard me, it listened. Is it always listening? A sudden, primal fear had overtaken his body. He knew he had to do something, and so he began to devise a plan.  
Over the next two weeks, Mr. Vanderwink surreptitiously whispered requests into the tablet's invisible ear. Over the next two weeks, the melodic bells played and parcels, letters, and messages were delivered to their front door. Finally, after he was convinced he collected enough evidence, he confronted his wife.  
"This thing," he yelled triumphantly, "is listening to our every word! Any time I said I needed something, it delivered!"  
"So?" Mrs. Vanderwink asked. She blinked heavily. Her eyes, creamy from overuse, now had crust clogging her tear ducts and catching in her eyelashes. "It gave us what we needed. It's helping us." She replied catatonically.  
"It's spying on us."  
"What's the harm?"  
"What's the harm? The harm is that we don't know what else they're doing! What are they collecting this data for? Why could they possibly need it? What are they doing with our private information?" The questions spilled out of Mr. Vanderwink’s mouth, hot, fast, and rushed.  
"I don't see the big deal."  
"This is the big deal," Mr. Vanderwink snatched the tablet from his wife’s clutches and slammed it to the ground. The blue screen shattered and bits of humming glass scattered across the floor. He then grabbed his hammer, his beautiful hammer that accompanied the chisel set he received weeks earlier, and flung it at the electronic mess.  
"No!" Mrs. Vanderwink screamed. She fell to the ground, grabbing at the shards and desperately trying to shove them back together. “No! No!” She sobbed. Murky tears bubbled down her cheeks and landed on the tiny bits of glass, enshrouding them in poisonous water.  
"You're an addict! It won’t let you get away! That's the big deal!" Mr. Vanderwink yelled to his wife. His voice cracked. When was the last time he spoke above a hushed tone?  
"I can't believe you did this." The old woman clutched the pieces of the broken tablet to her chest, piercing her paper-thin skin. She stood up and ran away to the bedroom, slamming the door. Mr. Vanderwink was left alone in the living room.  
He slept on the couch that night. He had tried to go to the bedroom, to console his wife, but she had locked the door. He had pressed his ear against it, but heard only quiet moaning. So, he slept on the couch. Alone.  
At midnight, there was a 

DING DONG!

Mr. Vanderwink didn't move. His eyes were wide open but he couldn’t see anything except for the rough white ceiling above. He waited for something to be said, waited for his wife to answer the door and receive her package. No one moved. No one spoke. 

DING DONG!

"Mr. Vanderwink. Open the door."  
Mr. Vanerwink didn't budge. His blood pumped fast through his body, causing his muscles to squirm and slide around. His eyes had moved from the ceiling to the front door.  
"Mr. Vanderwink. Open the door."  
He still didn't move.  
And then, very slowly, the doorknob turned.  
The door was locked, but the doorknob jostled violently. It clanged around, metal scratching against metal furiously. Then it stopped, and a shadow passed over the window. Mr. Vanderwink moved now, afraid of the mysterious shadow. He jumped off the couch and tried to get to his bedroom. The door was still locked.  
"Please," Mr. Vanderwink whispered. "Open the door. There's something outside. It's trying to get in." No response.  
"Please," he pleaded again. His wife still didn't answer.  
Mr. Vanderwink gave up and went to hide in the bathroom. There were no window in there, and there was a lock on the door.  
He shut the door quietly and turned the lock. Then he stepped into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain closed. He laid down and closed his eyes.  
The next morning, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Mr. Vanderwink jumped awake. A crick had developed in his neck and had slithered down his entire spine and he sat up slowly. There was another knock.  
"Dear?" It was Mrs. Vanderwink. "What are you doing in there?"  
"Oh," the old man looked down at his wrinkled pajamas. White strips against white spots rotated in front of his eyes. He grimaced at them. "Nothing, just going to the bathroom."  
"Oh."  
Mr. Vanderwink stepped out of the bathtub and opened the door. His wife stood before him in her ratty, white nightgown, hair pulled back in a ruffled bun.  
"Did you wash your hands?"  
"I--yes."  
"I'm making breakfast." said Mrs. Vanderwink, and she turned away towards the kitchen.  
Mrs. Vanderwink made toast while her husband stared out the window. Everything looked the same. The same gray clouds, the same masked sun.  
"Here," said Mrs. Vanderwink. She set a plate of toast down on the table.  
"Thank you. How was your night?" Mr. Vanderwink asked.  
The old woman didn't respond. Her eyes were still red, and she looked down at the floor.  
And then 

DING DONG!

Mrs. Vanderwink looked up, then at her husband, then at the door.  
"Hello Mrs. Vanderwink. Open the door."  
Mrs. Vanderwink, eyes blank and mouth twitching, moved towards the door.  
"Wait," Mr. Vanderwink called after his wife, "what are you doing?"  
"Answering the door."  
"But, why?"  
"They said to."  
"But--"  
Mrs. Vanderwink turned away from her husband and hurried to the door.  
"Hello Mrs. Vanderwink. We have brought you a new tablet."  
"Oh!" Mrs. Vanderwink exclaimed euphorically. She greedily snatched the tablet away from the Blinkbot, then began to rapidly tap at the screen. She drifted away into the soft blue glow of escape.  
"Mr. Vanderwink." The Blinkbot hovered into the house. It’s scales shivered with as much malice as artificial intelligence could muster and slammed its six bony legs into the hardwood. It moved towards the old man, metal thudding against the ground with every step. Mrs. Vanderwink didn’t see. Mr. Vanderwink backed away slowly.  
"Mr. Vanderwink," it said again. It kept moving.  
"I--" Mr. Vanderwink started. And then a large metal spike emerged from the face of the Bot and shot itself into Mr. Vanderwink's mouth, ripping through his throat and into the wooden floors.  
The Blinkbot detached itself from the spear and floated away and out of the house. Mrs. Vanderwink sat down on the couch, deep lines creasing her forehead and the corners of her mouth, while her husband stood dead in the center on the living room, the spike through his throat, blood sliding down its metal frame and warping the hardwood.  
His eyes were glazed in an expression of pleading fear, aimed at his wife. Her eyes were looking down.


End file.
